Sophie woke to the sound of Marcus pacing her room. His shadow stretched long across the wall, restless and sharp. He hadn't slept—she could tell by the wild look in his eyes, the way his hands clenched and unclenched as though he were fighting invisible chains.
"Marcus," she whispered, sitting up.
He stopped, turning toward her, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. "He's getting closer."
Her blood ran cold. "Ethan?"
Marcus nodded, his jaw tight. "It's like… I can feel him under my skin. Like he's not just outside the window anymore. He's here."
Sophie pushed off the bed, crossing to him. She grabbed his hands, pressing them to her face, grounding him. "He isn't here. You are. With me. And he'll never have this."
His eyes softened, but only slightly. "What if I bring him in? What if I'm the door he's waiting for?"
Her throat tightened. "Then I'll lock it. I'll stand in the doorway. I'll never let him through."
For a long moment, Marcus just stared at her, his breathing ragged. Then, finally, he sagged against her, burying his face in her hair. She held him, her arms tight, her heart pounding like a war drum.
At school, the silence was worse than the whispers. Students didn't laugh or jeer when they saw Marcus anymore—they moved aside, giving him space, their eyes wary, fearful. It should have been a victory, but it felt like defeat. It felt like they weren't seeing Marcus anymore. They were seeing Ethan's reflection in him.
In the cafeteria, Sophie sat with him at the corner table, her notebook open between them. Marcus didn't touch his food; his fists clenched on the table, veins rising against his skin. His eyes scanned the room constantly, searching, waiting.
"He's not here," Sophie whispered, touching his hand.
Marcus didn't look at her. "He doesn't need to be."
Her stomach twisted.
When the final bell rang, Sophie found a note stuffed into her locker. The handwriting was jagged, messy, but she recognized it instantly. Ethan's.
Meet me tonight. If you want to save him.
Her heart stopped. She crumpled the note in her fist, her vision blurring. She should tell Marcus, she knew. But part of her feared what he'd do if he saw it.
That night, Marcus climbed through her window again, his movements sharp, restless. Sophie shoved the note deeper into her desk drawer, her chest aching with the weight of her secret.
"Couldn't stay at home," Marcus muttered, pacing again. "Walls feel like they're closing in."
Sophie grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "Then stay here. With me. Just… breathe with me."
He looked at her, eyes wild, but slowly—so slowly—he let her pull him onto the bed. She curled against him, her notebook clutched tightly in her hands beneath the blanket.
She didn't sleep that night.
She lay awake, listening to his breathing, staring at the shadows on the wall. The note in her drawer burned in her mind.
And she knew, with a terrible certainty, that the silent war was about to break.
The next morning, Sophie's body was heavy with exhaustion, her mind raw from the weight of the note she hadn't shown Marcus. He still slept when she slipped out of bed, his face softened by dreams, though his fists twitched as if fighting battles even there. She pressed a kiss to his temple before leaving, whispering words he didn't hear: I'll protect you, even from him. Even from yourself.
At school, Ethan was waiting.
He leaned against her locker, his smirk slow, patient, poisonous. When Sophie approached, her heart thudded so hard she thought he'd hear it.
"Did you get my note?" he asked casually, as though he were inviting her to coffee, not to the edge of destruction.
Her throat closed, but she nodded.
His smile widened. "Good girl."
She wanted to slap him, to scream, but the words tangled in her chest. She forced herself to whisper, "Why me? Why not him?"
Ethan's eyes glittered. "Because you're the leash. Break you, and he breaks himself. Simple math."
Her stomach churned. She whispered through clenched teeth, "You'll never have him."
Ethan leaned close, his breath brushing her ear. "He's already mine, Sophie. You're just too blind to see it."
She shoved past him, her notebook clutched so tightly her knuckles ached. Her hands shook as she scribbled furiously in the margins of her homework, trying to smother the fear with ink.
He is not yours. He will never be. Even if I have to burn myself to ash, I will keep him from you.
That night, she couldn't eat. Couldn't breathe without hearing Ethan's voice slithering through her mind. Marcus came to her window again, restless, storming, his body trembling like a volcano ready to erupt.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he took in her pale face, the way her hands shook.
"Nothing," she lied.
His jaw tightened. "Don't lie to me."
Tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to tell him about the note, about Ethan's whispered threats, about the meeting that hung over her like a noose. But the thought of Marcus charging into it, fists flying, losing himself completely—it froze her voice in her throat.
Instead, she whispered, "I'm just tired."
Marcus stared at her for a long, painful moment. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. "We're running out of time," he murmured.
Her blood went cold. "What do you mean?"
"I can feel it," he said hoarsely. "Like something building inside me. Like the fire's too big for my chest. One day soon, it'll burn its way out."
Sophie clutched him tighter, tears soaking his shirt. "Then let me burn with you. But don't leave me alone in the ashes."
He trembled, pressing his face into her hair. "God, Sophie. You're the only thing keeping me alive."
They fell asleep like that, tangled together, but Sophie didn't rest. She lay awake, staring at the shadows shifting on her walls, hearing Ethan's laughter in the rustle of the trees outside.
The next day, the note's promise came due.
After school, Sophie walked to the abandoned lot near the edge of town, her notebook clutched like a weapon. The sky was heavy with storm clouds, the wind sharp, carrying the scent of rain.
Ethan was already there, standing beneath a broken streetlamp, his silhouette sharp against the dim light.
"I knew you'd come," he said softly, almost tender.
Sophie's heart pounded. "What do you want from me?"
Ethan's smile was slow, cruel. "To watch him fall. And you, Sophie—you're the perfect push."
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "You'll never have him."
Ethan stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Don't you get it? I don't want him. I want you to watch him destroy himself for you. That's the real victory."
Her chest cracked. She whispered, "You're a monster."
Ethan tilted his head, his smile widening. "And Marcus? What is he, if not my reflection?"
Before she could answer, a voice cut through the storm.
"Sophie!"
Her heart stopped. Marcus.
He stood at the edge of the lot, his hood down, his eyes blazing with fury. He must have followed her. His fists were clenched, his whole body trembling.
Ethan's smile turned sharp as glass. "Perfect."
Sophie's throat closed. "Marcus, don't—"
But Marcus was already moving, already crossing the lot, his fire igniting with every step.
And Sophie knew, with a terror that hollowed her out, that this was the breaking point.